Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two

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Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two Page 10

by Brian S. Pratt


  “T’Lea?”

  Brother Horka nodded. “Two of his followers died in Reardon, another in Cerinet. This was confirmed by two reliable sources.”

  “And no word of who was behind it?”

  “None.”

  Miko glanced to Fathers Tullin, Keller and Vickor. “Then this may be a private vendetta and have nothing to do with our guests.”

  “So I believe,” affirmed Brother Horka.

  To Father Tullin, Miko asked, “Did you get word to Tinok?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he plan to come?”

  Father Tullin shrugged. “He didn’t say. But I think it likely.”

  Miko sat back and grew thoughtful. “I do not like the death of these priests, something nags at the back of my mind when I mull about it. While we are gone, see if you can discover any other losses T’Lea may have suffered. If it warrants my attention, you know how to reach me.” After a moment, he added, “Check with the other temples. This may not be confined to just the Dark One’s minions.”

  Father Tullin nodded.

  Across the table, Miko saw Father Keller frown. “What is it, my friend?”

  “I don’t know if it is such a good idea for us to leave the temple right now. Our Brothers and Novices can barely defend themselves. If something should arise in our absence…”

  Miko gave him a reassuring smile. “They will be fine. Morcyth will watch over them. Besides, Father Tullin will remain here, and many of the Brothers are not without skill.”

  “You got that right,” affirmed Brother Horka. “We are not a temple of weak-willed priests without a stomach for violence. Why, all but three of our Novices were raised on the streets; Brothers too. Have you forgotten last month?”

  That brought grins to all. None knew how it started, but the refectory had been transformed into one massive free-for-all. Two-thirds of the Novices and half of the Brothers were involved. By the time Miko arrived with Fathers Keller and Vickor, their “priests” were bloody from head to toe, bones broken, eyes blackened, it was a mess. The scene was more appropriate to a battlefield than the refectory of a temple to a god that professed peace.

  Miko chuckled. “Even still, call in our recruiters from the neighboring cities until our return.”

  Father Tullin nodded. “Will do.”

  “There is one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “While I am gone, I am leaving the care and welfare of our people to you.”

  A look of surprise and a touch of fear came over him. “Me? But…Father Berron has been with you longer.”

  “I need someone who will do something instead of dither should an emergency arise. I know you, you are a man that gets things done. You will take care of our people until I return.”

  “As you wish.”

  “It is not merely myself who wishes this.”

  Father Tullin’s fear gave way to pride for there could only be one other that Miko meant.

  “That will mean no more trips to the Pits.”

  Glancing to Father Vickor, Father Tullin sighed. “I understand.”

  In a place far removed from the City of Light, a woman lay upon a table. Her body broken and twisted, maimed beyond repair, she lay as she had for many days; strapped to a table and in the most excruciating pain.

  Standing over her, a man laughed. Caressing her face, he smoothed a wayward strand of hair back into place. “Are you ready for more?” He reached a hand toward her. Before his fingertips could touch her skin, she screamed. “Yes, I think you are.”

  Taking a thin, finger-length rod bearing a jagged, hooked end from off the table beside him, he brought it to the woman. “Do not fear, our fun will last for quite some time. Yes, I think before it is over, you will come to love what we do here.” Again he laughed as he showed her the instrument of torture and pain.

  Her screams only made what he did all the more joyful. His master would be pleased.

  Wham!

  The door to the room slammed opened and the man turned to find three figures entering this most holy of places. Blackness surrounded him as he called upon the power of his god. A wave of pain and agony flowed toward the intruders. Before its power could strike, the spell met a force of greater strength. The wave of pain dissolved into nothingness.

  Two were armored and bore twin longswords, the third wore plain leathers and was obviously the trio’s leader. It was he that had countered the spell. The man in leathers stepped forward. Casting a glanced at the girl upon the table, sadness came over him. Sadness quickly turned to anger as he fastened his eyes upon the woman’s captor. “Your time has come.”

  The man laughed. “You have no power here.” Raising his hands, he called forth magic of the fellest kind. The darkness intensified and quickly transformed into six diminutive creatures; misshapen and twisted, each exuded pure malevolence and hate. “Take them, my pets.”

  Brilliant light flared to life, its center being that of the man in leathers. Four swords left their sheathes as the two armored men moved to interpose themselves before the third. The six creatures sprang forward, but in the face of the light, their attack faltered. Withering, they fell to the blades of the armored men.

  The light winked out as quickly as it had come. “You and your kind will no longer visit horror and pain upon the innocent. A time of change is on the rise.”

  “Bah! Our god is supreme. Now, feel the full brunt of His wrath!”

  Darkness oozed from the walls, floor and ceiling. The man in leathers held his hands before him and light shot forth as the power of one god fought with that of another. For a moment, the light was entirely cocooned by the dark. But cracks began forming in the encompassing miasma. A single shout from the man in leathers produced an explosion that rocked the room. Walls cracked, fissures broke apart the ceiling causing debris to fall, but when the haze cleared, the darkness was gone.

  The woman’s captor stared with disbelief as the light reigned supreme.

  “As I said, a time of change is on the rise. One in which those like you will have no place.”

  Turning to flee, the man was caught by the two armored men and held at bay. Attempts to call upon the power of his god were met with failure. A nimbus of light surrounded him and he could no longer feel his god’s presence.

  “For untold deeds too dark to utter, you deserve to die.”

  The armored men set him against the wall and the man in leathers magically held him in place.

  “Do it.”

  They came to stand before the woman’s captor, each holding but a single blade. Without further direction, they plunged them into the man’s chest. The blows were precise, delivered to either side of the heart.

  “We will meet again,” vowed the man.

  Leathers shook his head. “No, we won’t.”

  Light flared a third time. From him, powerful magic flowed into the armored men, coursed through their swords and entered the woman’s captor.

  A scream tore from the man’s throat as the light ripped through his dark soul. Unable to leave as long as life remained, it withered beneath the onslaught. When at last the man’s heart beat no more, the soul sought to depart. The light would not allow it to go.

  Holding it, wrapping it, destroying it, the light obliterated a soul completely devoid of any trace of goodness. When the last portion of the dark one’s soul had been eradicated, the light vanished.

  Magic released the woman’s captor and he slumped to the floor. Never again would he bother another, not even in the afterlife.

  Leathers went to the woman’s side and gave her a smile filled with as much love and assurance as any on this world had ever known. But her mind was gone. The time spent under her captor’s ministrations had destroyed it.

  “It’s okay,” he said to her as he brought his hand toward her forehead. When it touched, pain vanished and wounds healed.

  “Take her with us.”

  “We should put her out of her misery,” one of the armored men sa
id.

  Leathers shook his head. “No. We will take her with us. Though her mind is gone, her spirit resides.”

  “As you wish.”

  Lifting her from the table, the armored man walked with the other as they followed Leathers from the room.

  Chapter Eight

  Looking out the window, James kept watch on the bridge. Mid-morning had come and gone without any sign of Miko. He was anxious to get going and was impatient with any delay. Far to the south, his wife and son waited. The sooner he could reunite with them and end their grief at his “passing,” the happier he would be.

  Using magic to seek Miko was not an option. He no longer had the security of the temple to shield his efforts. Any attempt now would alert nearby mages. Many times back on the island he had worked on performing magic without creating the telltale tingle; but since there had been no other mage on whom he could practice, his efforts never went beyond the theoretical stage.

  Jira and Kip played Bones and Daggers. Jira still had yet to win against him. Jiron watched as they played, his advice against whomping his daughter seemed to have gone unheeded. Kip had six Long Daggers of varying strengths, two Daggers, and four of his Bones. Jira retained but a single Long Dagger with two stones beneath and three of her Bones. The outcome was a foregone conclusion and Jiron was not happy. Jira on the other hand, did not seem to care. She moved one of her Bones out of harm’s way and waited eagerly for Kip’s move.

  “Where could they be?”

  Jiron looked up from the game and turned toward his friend. “They will arrive when they do. It takes time to get here and Miko planned not to appear rushed in his departure.”

  Sighing, James glanced over his shoulder. “I know.”

  Outside was a beautiful autumn day. The trees were alive with vibrant colors, the sky a deep blue with but a wisp of cloud, and the morning sun was doing its best to counter the chill in the air.

  Turning back to the window, James looked out once again to the bridge and the road connecting Inna’s Bend with the main north-south trade route. A gust of wind broke a cluster of leaves free. He watched as they floated and danced in their ever-downward spiral.

  Kenny loved the leaves. Last year, James had compiled a six-foot heap into which he would toss his son. Kenny giggled and laughed as the pile exploded upon impact. True, he had to reform the pile after every hurl, but the joy of watching his son cavort was worth the effort.

  The noon meal came and went, Bones were taken by Daggers, and still Miko failed to appear.

  “Something had to have happened.”

  Jiron walked over and looked out the window. “I wouldn’t worry. What could possibly have happened? If anybody can handle themselves, it’s Miko.”

  “True enough.”

  Miko wasn’t what one would call a run-of-the-mill High Priest. Raised on the streets of Bearn, he had a life-view few of his peers could match. Not only backed by the power of Morcyth, but he had been aged prematurely by the god Dmon-Li’s “Fire.”

  Years gone, but his youth had been exchanged for an unmatched martial prowess with the sword. With the power of the Fire, none had been able to stand against him. Now that it was hidden away, he was merely very deadly. Between sword and spell, there were few against whom he would have trouble. Coupling his own prowess with that of those with whom he traveled, it would be an unlucky brigand indeed who tried to waylay them for their coins.

  Picturing the drubbing he and his priests would give a highwayman caused a grin to break out. Fathers Keller and Vickor were skilled in the faith, and according to Jiron, would hold their own very well should blows be exchanged. No, he needn’t fear for Miko and his priests.

  It wasn’t until the shadows had begun to grow long that a lone rider appeared at the bridge. Expecting three with several packhorses in tow, he gave the rider scant attention. But when the rider turned toward town, he could tell despite the plain travel clothes, that it was Father Vickor.

  James turned from the window. “Vickor just crossed the bridge.”

  Looking up from the game of Bones and Daggers he played with Kip, Jiron asked, “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  Grabbing his pack, James headed for the door.

  Jiron got to his feet and gestured to the board. “Put this away and gather our things.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kip replied.

  He was more than happy to bring the game to a close. After his repeated drubbings of Jira, Jiron had taken him on. Five straight losses followed, the one stopped mid-game would have been his sixth. Already, Jiron had snatched three of his Bones and decimated his Daggers.

  Jira moved to follow her father but was told to remain in the room with Kip. The way she stomped her foot and the set of her jaw clearly laid out how she felt about that.

  Taking the steps two at a time, James slowed his pace to a more moderate level as he reached the bottom. By the time he had crossed to the main door, Father Vickor was coming to a halt outside and dismounting.

  “Where are the others?”

  Father Vickor looked up to see James striding toward him and Jiron appearing in the doorway a moment later. He jerked a thumb back toward the road. “They’re waiting at the junction. Miko felt it best if he and the, uh, others kept out of Inna’s Bend.”

  “Others?” Jiron asked. “Is Tinok with him?”

  The priest nodded. “Yes, he’s there, too.”

  Something about the way he said too gave James the feeling there was more to the story. “Anyone else?”

  “Uh, you better wait and see for yourself.”

  “Who else did Miko bring?”

  Father Vickor grew stubborn and just said they would find out when they arrived.

  James glanced to Jiron and saw the confusion mirrored in his friend’s face. Turning his attention to the second-story window above, he saw Kip and Jira watching.

  “Meet us at the stable.”

  Kip nodded, then he and Jira disappeared inside. Very faintly, they heard Jira give a whoop.

  As they accompanied Father Vickor around back, James asked again, “Come on. Who else has tagged along on our little adventure?”

  “They said they wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “They?” Jiron frowned as he mulled that over, then…”Not Scar and Potbelly?”

  James came to a halt and turned to the priest. “Is that who’s coming with us?” The look in Father Vickor’s eye said it all.

  Jiron nodded. “I could think of a worse pair to have along.”

  A shift in the priest’s gaze indicated there was more to it. James stared him down until the priest sighed. “A short fellow came with them. Has a brace of knives strapped across his chest.”

  Glancing to James, Jiron grinned. “Shorty.”

  “Gonna be like old times.”

  One-time pit fighter, Shorty was good in hand-to-hand with knives, but where his talents truly lay was in the throwing of them. James recalled the deadly accuracy Shorty had exhibited during their journeys throughout the war.

  James couldn’t help but think that if any more happened to join their group, they would be in serious jeopardy of being classified as an army. Not a large one to be sure, but sizeable enough to cause worry in the locals. Maybe he could convince Scar, Potbelly, and Shorty to return home. He had no intention of fighting, merely slipping through to reunite with his family.

  Jira and Kip arrived shortly after they began saddling the horses and their equipment was stowed upon the packhorse. Kip bowed to Father Vickor after entering the stable.

  The priest wagged his finger at the novice. “None of that. On this trip, we put the priesthood behind us. There are those we may encounter that would look upon us in a less than favorable light. Just call me Vick.”

  Kip grinned. “As you wish, Vick.”

  Laughing, “Vick” slapped young Kip on the shoulder, then helped with getting the packhorse squared away. In no time, they were riding from the stable and crossing the bridge on their way to the main
trade route.

  A canopied tent stood just off the road to the south. Its opened air interior revealed several figures, two of which bore the unmistakable silhouettes of Scar and Potbelly. Despite James’ reservations about such a large group, he had to admit, their company wouldn’t be completely devoid of positives.

  Off to the pavilion’s west stood a line of horses, six being loaded with travel goods and equipment. The odor of cooking sausage wafted upon the autumn breeze.

  Scar was the first to see their arrival. He favored dual longswords while his partner Potbelly wielded a single longsword and knife. With his usual exuberance, he stalked from the tent with a wide grin upon his face. “Well, as I live and breathe. If it isn’t the infamous Dark Mage returned from the dead.”

  Potbelly followed his comrade, a sizeable sausage speared upon his knife. “We thought you dead.”

  Giving them a wave, James replied, “So does the rest of this world. And let’s pray they continue so for some time.”

  Jiron looked for Tinok and found him within the tent, remaining next to the fire. His friend glanced his way but made neither salutation, nor acknowledgement that he had seen him.

  “Miko filled us in on the plan,” Scar said.

  Potbelly came to a stop beside him. “It’ll be just like old times.”

  From the tent, Miko emerged looking slightly chagrined. “I didn’t think these two would be coming. But since they already knew and volunteered their services, I thought to bring them along.”

  Dismounting, James looked upon the pair. The arguments he had prepared as to why they shouldn’t come remained unspoken now that he stood before them. They were true companions and friends, willing to lay down their lives for the others. How could he bring himself to demand they return?

  “Fine. But no more.”

  Scar jerked a thumb back toward the tent. “Shorty’s here too.”

  “So Father Vickor said.”

  The pair turned a frown toward the priest. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  Shrugging, he said, “They guessed.”

  Jiron came forward and slapped them on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you along.”

 

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